Restart
It was a hard restart. The red needle fell under the levels of measurement deep inside the rock鈥檚 sparkle before the light called it, without shimmer. Without a miss. As if the childhood鈥檚 chalkboard had been cleaned by a professional over winter break. It was an opening of doorlight. Her voice said, 鈥淲e鈥檝e got a pulse鈥� and I was grateful for this nothing, so very grateful as the chalk ticked and dusted the blank black, as I reformed one of the harder letters in cursive, alone.
Icon at the Women鈥檚 Hospital, St. Bogorodica Bolni膷ka, Ohrid
The woman waits to speak. This is where the sick have come to the gloom tinged with maroon, a dove, and jackdaw in the courtyard unflinching. In the icon, the boy gets to wear orange. I think I see a wing back there. Perhaps he鈥檚 already dead. Perhaps everyone in the icons is dead. Did they refuse the healing? That鈥檚 what goes on behind closed doors. Sacraments. Don鈥檛 look if you want to trust the situation at hand.
Michelle Matthees鈥� poems have appeared in numerous journals, including the Baltimore Review, Memorious, Superstition Review, J Journal, and Conduit. She is a graduate of the University of Minnesota creative writing program and has received grants and awards from the Minnesota State Arts Board and the Jerome Foundation. Her first book-length collection, Flucht, is available from New Rivers Press.